To Find A Way Home
by Teobi
Summary: A gentle ghost story. Virgil is having strange dreams that encourage him to paint. Grandma is having dreams of a different kind. Are they somehow connected?
1. Chapter 1

_Written for the TIWF Halloween Challenge 2010. _

_Hello to Lightcudder, Mapu, Ship's Cat and the worthy winner, Tiylaya._

_Many thanks to Fran Lavery for reining me in and helping to tighten up this story with her excellent beta-ing. Thanks Fran, a pint of your favourite tipple is on its way. And a big bar of chocolate._

_Reviews and feedback are, as ever, welcomed with a shiver of delight. Thanks so much._

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"Hey, Virg. That's a nice painting."

"Thanks, Scott."

"I like the colours."

Virgil turned to his older brother, standing beside him, and smiled wryly. "You don't have to pretend, fella."

"No, really. I like it." Scott's blue eyes flashed gentle amusement, taking in the flecks of fresh paint in Virgil's chestnut hair and the pale yellow smear across his chin.

Virgil turned back to his painting and the two of them appraised it quietly for a few moments in the sunny mid-morning light that came streaming in through the lounge windows.

It was a painting of a house, two-storey, colonial looking, perched on a seafront at the corner of a T-junction, the branch road climbing past the house up a gentle incline. The colour of the house was mint green, faded and weather-worn in most places, with trails of rust scarring the paintwork around window frames. The sky was a stormy mixture of greys and purples, turning pale yellow as it descended to the horizon.

"You know this place?" Scott asked.

"Not really," Virgil replied.

Scott looked puzzled. "You're not painting from a photograph."

"No," Virgil mused thoughtfully.

"So?" Scott nudged his brother. "Don't be cryptic. Where is this place? It kind of looks familiar."

"Well," said Virgil, tapping his lower lip with the end of his paintbrush and getting more paint on his face, "if you want to know the truth, and don't laugh at me, I dreamed about it."

Scott's eyes widened. "You did?" he peered at the painting more closely. "In this much detail?"

"Yeah, mostly."

"But you don't know where it is?"

"No. Could be anywhere."

"Wouldn't you'd get an indication from the detail?" Scott said. "Any stop lights? Road signs? Types of tree, even? Plus, the architecture of the house itself."

Virgil smiled at his older brother who was casting his analytic gaze intently over the whole painting. "I didn't think you'd be so interested," he chuckled.

"Mmm. I love a good mystery, Virg."

"Well, it was a nice enough dream, anyway. Guess that's what made me want to get it down on canvas."

"Maybe one day you'll find out if this place really exists."

"Yeah. Maybe."

Scott put his hand on Virgil's shoulder and squeezed gently. "You're very lucky to have this talent, bro," he said. "You can dream something like this, or a song, and next thing it's right there in front of you."

Virgil smiled, noting the almost wistful look on Scott's face. "It doesn't happen that often, Scott. Most times I have to work at it."

"Still, it's a good thing to be able to do."

The brothers were distracted then, by their grandmother approaching.

"What are you working on today, Virgil?" Mrs. Tracy asked kindly.

"Come see, Grandma." Virgil put his arm out and drew the old lady into a warm hug, turning her to face the canvas.

"Oh my! What a beautiful house."

"I dreamed it, Grandma. What do you make of that?"

"Oh, Virgil, I think it's wonderful. To have such vivid dreams, and of such wonderful places."

"I don't suppose you recognise it?" Scott asked hopefully.

"No," Mrs. Tracy said, "but it does look familiar."

"That's exactly what I thought." Scott said. "Not somewhere I've ever been, but somehow there's an air of recognition about it."

"It's not an unusual view though, is it?" Virgil stated. "A big old colonial house on a sea front. We've probably all seen pictures in magazines or old copies of National Geographic."

"True," agreed Scott.

"Well, I think it's lovely," said Mrs. Tracy, hugging Virgil back. "And I hope you're going to hang it somewhere nice when it's finished."

"Don't worry. Grandma. I will."

Later on in the afternoon, Scott approached Virgil again, this time by the swimming pool. He held two tall glasses full of a cold liquid and handed one to his brother, who still had paint in his hair.

"Grandma made iced tea," he said. "Here you go."

"Hey. Thanks, Scott." Virgil accepted the proffered drink gratefully and took a long swallow. "Wow. Delicious. Grandma sure knows how to make a good iced tea."

Scott pulled up a chair and sat down next to Virgil, slopping a little of his drink onto the ground as he did so.

"Hey, where's ours?" called Alan from the middle of the pool where he and Tin-Tin were laughing and splashing.

"In the kitchen," Scott retorted.

"Man, that's so unfair."

"Deal with it."

"Big galoot," said Alan, flicking water in his eldest brother's direction.

Scott grinned, raised his glass. Then he turned back to Virgil. "Virg, I want to talk to you. About Grandma."

"Oh?" Virgil had been pulling sympathetic faces at Alan, but he was all ears now.

"Have you noticed she seems a bit tired lately. Well, a lot tired."

"Noticeably tired?"

"Yeah."

"Well," Virgil thought about it for a moment. "Not noticeably." he looked dismayed, as thought he had missed something he shouldn't have missed.

"Maybe I'm worrying too much. I thought she seemed a bit wobbly just now, in the kitchen."

"She's not as young as she used to be. I know that's an old cliché, but she's getting on, Scott. And she still tries to do everything at once."

"I know. She's making a cake right now as we speak."

"Chocolate?"

"Vanilla sponge. That's why I'm here. She chased me out."

"Will you never learn," Virgil grinned.

"It's gonna nag at me now. I'll keep an eye on her, anyway."

"Just don't let her catch you at it. You know what she's like with anyone fussing over her. She reckons that's _her_ job."

Virgil returned to his painting after dinner. The natural daylight had disappeared and now his work was illuminated by the soft glow from a nearby standing lamp. He looked at his artwork thoughtfully. He became so engrossed that he didn't even notice when his older brother arrived at his side.

"Think you'll dream about it again?" Scott asked, causing Virgil to jump slightly.

"Scott, don't sneak up on me like that."

"Virg, a herd of elephants could stomp past and you wouldn't have noticed, you looked so deep in thought."

"I guess I'm just intrigued by it. By the fact I felt I had to paint it, too. As if there's some reason why I need to remember it."

"Maybe that's just the artist in you. You get all sentimental about visions. Signs and portents."

"You can scoff. Oh, yeah...you just did."

"I'm teasing, Virg. I wish I had a fraction of your talent. That mountain series you painted, still takes my breath away."

"Thanks." Virgil looked at his brother face on. They exchanged a warm smile.

"You get one compliment a day. And that was it."

"Well, here's yours." Virgil punched Scott lightly in the chest. "You're a good brother."

"So," Scott grinned, "did you notice Grandma earlier? What did you think?"

"She _did_ look tired," Virgil admitted. "And she let us help clean up after dinner without the usual protests about everyone getting in her way."

"She had her hands on her back, too." Scott appeared thoughtful. "And I kind of noticed she looked a bit faraway."

They exchanged another look, both knowing what the other was thinking.

"It's gonna happen one day," Scott said quietly as Virgil turned back to gaze at his painting.

"I know."

Scott rubbed Virgil's shoulder. "She's gone to bed already. I'm gonna take her some cocoa. Want to come and listen to some stories?"

"Actually, Scott...I just want to work on this for a bit."

"Sure, Virg. She'll probably chase me out again anyway. But I might sit with her awhile if she'll let me."

"If she'll let you? Will you give her a choice?"

Scott laughed. "You know me too well, Virgil."

Mrs. Tracy looked very sternly at Scott when he arrived at her door, but her face lit up at the sight of the cocoa and the cookies he'd brought along with it. She ushered him into her room, which smelled of magnolias, and showed him a chair to sit on while she returned to her bed, gathering her nightdress as she climbed in.

"So, what brings you to an old lady's bedroom at this time of night?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

"It's eight thirty, Grandma."

"Yes, and that's late enough for me." Mrs. Tracy sniffed the contents of her mug. "Did you make this?"

"I did."

She took a tentative sip. "Not bad."

"Grandma, it's a spoonful of powder with hot milk on it. Not exactly rocket science."

"And you heated the milk yourself?"

Scott grinned, raked a hand through his hair and almost blushed. "Well...no. Tin-Tin did that. She said she didn't trust me not to burn the pan."

Mrs. Tracy smiled broadly. "You are a good boy, Scott. This is delicious."

"So," Scott went on, settling himself into the comfortable chair. "How've you been these last few days, Grandma?"

"In what way do you mean?" Mrs. Tracy continued to sip at her cocoa.

"You feeling okay? In yourself?"

She eyed him suspiciously over the edge of the mug. "Spit it out, young man."

"Spit what out?" Scott shot her his best look of total innocence.

"You're checking up on me."

"I am not!"

"Yes, you are. Bringing me cocoa and cookies. And don't think I haven't noticed you peering at me all the time, as though I'm about to fall over any second. I should _think_ you're checking up on me!"

"Okay, so I'm checking up on you. Boy, Virgil warned me about being more covert. Guess I've blown my cover already."

"I should have known you and Virgil would be in this together. Pass me one of those cookies, would you?"

Scott handed his grandmother the plate and watched as she selected three different types of cookie.

"So what is it you want to know?" she said, settling back into her pile of pillows, crumbs falling onto the blankets.

"Just how you are, Grandma. Just how you are."

Mrs. Tracy bit one of the cookies, started munching thoughtfully. "Well, I guess I'm just a little bit tired these days, but nothing to worry about. It's the heat sometimes, you know. And my hip sometimes stiffens up, but I find staying active actually helps it. It's sitting still that makes it worse."

"Gentle activity though, Grandma. Not charging around the place like a buffalo."

"A buffalo! Where_ do _you get your ideas."

"You know what I mean. You're in and out of that kitchen all day, making cookies, and cakes and pies and..." Scott stopped, wondering suddenly if he was beginning to sound ungrateful.

"Because I want to," she said firmly. "And because it's worth it to see the looks on your faces when those cakes and pies and cookies arrive."

"Grandma, that came out wrong, I wasn't saying you should stop. But maybe slow down a little."

"Oh, Scott. You're a darling boy and your concern is touching, yours _and_ your wily brother's. But really, I'm fine. I love rustling up goodies for you all. Land sake's, if it wasn't for you boys and your father, and Tin-Tin and Kyrano, I would have been gone a long time ago."

"Don't talk like that, Grandma."

Mrs. Tracy smiled at the worried look on her eldest grandson's face. She leaned over and patted his hand. "Scott, my dear, I have no intentions of going anywhere just yet. But if you're concerned, then I will try and pace myself a little bit. Just for you, because you are so like him."

"You mean dad?"

"I mean your grandfather," she said, her eyes twinkling.

The next morning, Virgil arrived in the kitchen, yawning and dragging his slippers across the floor.

"Here's our little ray of sunshine," said Scott, already up and dressed and drinking coffee with Jeff and Gordon at the table.

"Stick it," Virgil mumbled, making a beeline for the coffee machine.

"Isn't that nice," growled Jeff, affably. "Good morning to you too, son."

"Morning," Virgil croaked, pushing his fingers through his hair, making it stick up like Stan Laurel's.

"Pleasant dreams?" said Scott, eyeing Virgil with amusement.

His brother turned his head and directed a sleepy gaze at him. "Maybe."

"Anyone I know?" grinned Gordon.

"Not unless you know some women," Virgil replied, bringing his steaming mug over to the table and landing like a lead weight into a chair opposite Scott.

"I think I know more women than you, Einstein," Gordon laughed, indicating Virgil's stuck-up hair.

"We've been talking about Grandma," said Scott. "Dad's noticed her tiredness too."

"I've been thinking of taking her to the mainland for a check up," said Jeff. "But you know she'd hit the roof if I suggested anything like that to her."

"She sure would," Virgil agreed, his head sinking down towards his mug. "Personally, I think you should leave it. She's not incapacitated or anything like that."

"No, she made that quite clear last night," said Scott. "Told me off for fussing."

"Didn't I say she would?"

"She said I was like Grandpa."

"She says I'm like him too," laughed Jeff. "Stubborn as a mule."

"Are you saying _I'm _stubborn as a mule?" Scott said, his eyes widening indignantly.

"Ohh noo," said Gordon as their father chuckled into his coffee. "As an ox, maybe."

Mrs. Tracy shuffled into the kitchen right at that very moment. "Are you fellows talking about me?"

she asked, peering at them suspiciously.

"Yes, Grandma, we're talking about you," said Scott. "All good stuff."

"I should hope so." Mrs. Tracy went over to the kitchen cupboards and started taking down bags of flour and sugar.

"What are you doing, Mother?" asked Jeff.

"I've decided to make some chocolate brownies," Mrs. Tracy replied. "They _always_ go down well."

Jeff and Scott exchanged a look.

"And don't you try to discourage me," she added, before either of them could say anything.

"Well," said Gordon, getting to his feet, "_I've_ got some work to do in Pod 4, so if you'll excuse me, folks."

He left the room, taking his coffee mug with him, grinning at Virgil on the way out.

Humming a merry tune, Mrs. Tracy took eggs and butter out of the fridge and located some dark chocolate. As she stood up, Scott, Jeff and Virgil all thought they saw her wince.

Scott shook his head at Jeff and mouthed, "what _is_ she doing?"

"Mother, it's early. Come and sit with us," said Jeff.

"I don't need to sit," Mrs. Tracy said. "I've been lying down all night."

"Now who's being stubborn?" Scott muttered under his breath.

"Grandma, come and relax," smiled Virgil. "Before these two explode."

"Oh! Let them explode, with their fussing. They want me to sit in a rocking chair knitting all day long. Well, I'm not about to resort to that!"

"No-one said that, Mother." Jeff said with exasperation.

"You_ know_ how you all love my chocolate brownies."

"We sure do, Grandma. Best brownies this side of Kathmandu." said Virgil. He got up to return his empty mug to the sink and went over to hug his grandmother tightly. "We love you, Grandma, and we love your brownies."

She leaned into Virgil's strong embrace and hugged him back with a fierceness that surprised him.

When she finally let go, she wobbled a bit but regained her composure almost immediately.

"Now hurry up and scoot out of my kitchen," she scolded. "I've got work to do."

Later that morning, after he'd woken up properly and showered, Virgil began work on another canvas. He sketched loosely with a piece of charcoal, his hand moving quickly. Scott saw, and came over.

"Another dream?" he asked, watching.

"Yeah. Kind of a continuation," Virgil murmured. "Same house, different viewpoint. Closer. And the front door was open this time."

"Really." Scott took in the details of the sketch. A closer view of the porch of the house, with the door ajar. "Think it's trying to tell you something?"

Virgil glanced askew at Scott. "Are you serious? Like some kind of a psychic message?" He said this last bit with a straight face, knowing how Scott would react.

Scott held his hands up. "Whoa, I didn't say anything about psychic messages. It just seems strange to have two similar dreams about the same place. Two dreams that have made enough of an impact on you to make you want to paint them."

"Like I said, Scott. It feels like a nice place. I'm not spooked by it at all."

"Could turn out to be an interesting series, anyway. That is, if you continue to have these dreams."

"Could be." Virgil went back to sketching. Scott recognised the intense look that came over Virgil's face as he worked.

"Want me to leave you and your Muse to it?" he asked.

"Naw, it's okay, Scott. You can stay if you want to."

Something about that open doorway looked inviting. Virgil tipped his head to one side, and then the other, lost in thought.

"I've been looking at your other painting, Virgil," came a quiet, almost shy voice. He and Scott both turned to see Tin-Tin approaching, her big green eyes almost luminous in the sunlight pouring through the window.

"Hi, Tin-Tin. Guess you know the story behind it, then."

"Scott said it was a dream you had."

"Yes, quite a vivid one too. I just felt I had to paint it."

"I'm a great believer in dreams," Tin-Tin said. "Not just as messages from the subconscious, but as messages from the spirit realm. Although I don't think Scott here feels _quite_ the same way about that." She smiled at the eldest Tracy brother who looked back at her with a cocked eyebrow.

"Hey, I'm ready to believe anything once the evidence is there," Scott protested.

Virgil looked at her intently. He wasn't surprised at her words, though. Tin-Tin was half European, but her ideals and philosophies were very Eastern. It made her a fascinating character.

"Do _you_ think some spirit is trying to get through to me?" he smiled gently.

"That's not for me to say Virgil. But they are quite lovely pieces."

"Thank you, Tin-Tin. I was saying to Scott that there was nothing ominous about these dreams. In fact, this place seems to be inviting me in. See? The open door."

"Perhaps the next time you dream, you'll actually get the chance to go through the door," said Tin-Tin, making a point of ignoring Scott's slightly sceptical expression.

"Who knows?" mused Virgil. " All I can say is, I'm kind of looking forward to whatever happens next."

The warm smell of chocolate brownies wafted through the Tracy villa, seducing all who came into contact with it. A crowd soon gathered in the kitchen as Mrs. Tracy took the baking tray out of the oven.

"I'm torn," Scott said to Virgil, watching his grandmother closely. "I want her to slow down, and then she goes and does something like this."

"Close your mouth, before you drool all down the front of your shirt," Virgil grinned.

"That smell," sighed Alan. "You'd think you'd died and gone to Heaven."

"Chocolate Brownie Heaven," agreed Gordon, a faraway look in his eyes.

Mrs. Tracy put the baking tray on to the counter and began cutting the brownies. Her grandsons lined up, eagerly waiting for theirs. She cut lengthways, and then began cutting vertically. Midway through, she appeared to falter, wavering slightly.

"Grandma?" said Scott, ever alert. He stepped forward, steadied his grandmother's elbow.

"Oh, I'm all right, Scott," she said. "Just the heat, I think. And the smell of these brownies is very rich."

Tin-Tin came over. "I'll do the brownies, Mrs. Tracy," she said softly. "You go with Scott and sit down."

"Land sake's, don't _fuss_," Mrs. Tracy said, but she made no further objection as Scott led her through to the lounge to sit in the cool breeze coming through the patio doors.

Jeff looked up as his mother came through the doorway escorted by his eldest son.

"Everything all right, Mother?" he asked, concerned. "You look a bit pale."

"The heat," said Scott. "That kitchen's pretty steamy what with all the _baking_ that's been going on."

Scott and his grandmother both looked up to see John Tracy peering down at them from his portrait on the wall.

"Hey, John," said Scott. "Just checking in?"

"Yeah," replied his blond brother. "I was starting to wonder where everyone was. Hi Grandma."

"Hello, John dear. How are you?"

"I'm fine, Grandma. Whatcha been up to?"

"I've made some brownies," Mrs. Tracy said. "I only wish you were here to have your share."

John laughed. "After I gorged myself the last time? I think I can hold out till I get back, Grandma. Won't be long now. Another week and a half. I can't wait to get into that pool." John leaned forward then, narrowing his eyes at his side of the screen. "You okay, Grandma?"

"Oh, _feh_! All this worrying, I don't know."

"Geez, I only asked," said John, perplexed.

"It's your brothers, they think I'm about to keel over any day." Mrs. Tracy made a show of looking cross, but she patted Scott's arm with affection. "They don't know how strong I am."

"Um, I think we do, Grandma," said John with a crooked grin.

"Grandma thinks she's still a teenager," said Scott.

"You're only as young as the person you feel," Mrs. Tracy smiled, giving him a squeeze.

"So how are the airwaves, John?" asked Scott, squeezing her back.

"I'm tracking a tropical storm in the North Atlantic, Scott. It's building up, but otherwise things are quiet," John replied. "Which is good news, of course- gives me the chance to catch up on a little stargazing." He looked over at something past Scott's shoulder. "That a new painting of Virgil's?"

"Uh-huh. He's been dreaming about this house, wanted to get it down on canvas."

"Dreaming about a house?" John's eyes widened.

"Yeah. What's up?"

"_I've_ been dreaming about a house."

"You have?" Scott looked equally surprised. "Guess I'd better go get Virg for you, you can talk to him about it. He's pretty keen on this whole episode." He went back to the kitchen to get his brother.

"Virgil," said John immediately, as soon as Virgil arrived. "What's this about you dreaming of a house? Can I see your paintings?"

"Sure," said Virgil. He went over to the far side of the lounge and collected the first painting. "This one's dry," he explained, holding it up so that John could see it.

"That's the same house," said John, wide-eyed. "I dreamed about it three nights ago."

"You did? Me, too. And then last night I dreamed the front door was open."

"I've just had one dream," said John. "But I'll sure let you know if I have any more."

Jeff eyed his sons quizzically "Sharing dreams?"

"I'm as puzzled as you, dad," said Virgil.

"I suppose it may not be all that uncommon," said Mrs. Tracy. "Especially in a family as close as this one."

"Worried it's a sign of madness, dad?" grinned John, affecting a slight twitch, his blue eyes flashing mischievously under his mop of blond hair.

"Well, I never know with you boys," Jeff smiled, joining in the fun.

Scott returned with a handful of brownies. He took his grandmother out onto the patio and sat with her in the shade. A slight breeze toyed with loose wisps of her grey hair, lifting them and twirling them around. Scott regarded her silently, thinking how tiny she looked. When he and his brothers were small, she seemed like a giant. He could remember tugging at her skirt, wanting to go outside to play. Now they all towered over her, especially him.

"Well, this is nice," Mrs. Tracy said, settling into her chair. "And such a lovely view."

"Can I get you anything?" Scott asked.

"No, dear, I'm perfectly all right. You just leave me here for a little while, I'll be fine."

"I was going to sit with you."

"You don't need to. I'm happy just to sit with my thoughts."

Scott fidgeted. "Want to share any of those thoughts?"

"Scott sweetheart, I'm perfectly all right. Now you just run along."

Scott shook his head in amusement. She used the same tone as when he was small. He got up, ruffled her hair. "Okay, Grandma, you win."

"_Just_ like your grandfather," she smiled.

"She's asleep," said Jeff, quietly.

"Think we should leave her?" said Scott. "She looks a little uncomfortable."

Mrs. Tracy was still sitting out on the patio, her head on her chest, lightly snoring.

"Leave her, son. I'm loathe to wake her up."

"What are you going to do? Are you going to take her for a check up? You could have the doc come here. It's be less of an upheaval for her."

"We'll _see_, Scott."

"She keeps mentioning Grandpa."

"Yes, I've noticed that too. Guess she misses him still."

Kyrano joined them. "I shall make Mrs. Tracy some ginger tea for when she wakes up," he said, looking at the old lady with kindness in his eyes. "It will revitalise her."

"Thank you, Kyrano," said Jeff.

"She is happy, Mr. Tracy," Kyrano added enigmatically.

Jeff turned to his friend. "How did you know what I was thinking, Kyrano?"

"It is obvious, Mr. Tracy. You are concerned."

"Just a little, I guess," Jeff agreed. "She's not getting any younger, after all."

The young man sat on the riverbank, smiling in the sun that warmed his handsome face. She approached shyly, her bare toes whispering through the cool grass. Her long brown hair fluttered against her cheeks, she hooked it back behind her ears.

The young man turned his face towards her, blue eyes sparkling. He held out his hand for her to join him. She sank down onto the ground. He stroked her hair, she leaned against him. The river glittered in the sunlight, small flies hovering on its surface. The air smelled of apples. The young man put his arm around her.

Mrs. Tracy woke quietly, a slow smile spreading across her face.

"Grant", she said softly.

Later that evening, John settled himself down for his sleep shift. Night and day were pretty much interchangeable up here in Thunderbird 5, but he tried to keep to the same routine, and he normally found that sleep came easily once he'd read a few chapters of a book or listened to some soothing music. He pushed his mop of blond hair away from his face and buried his head in the soft pillows.

He was asleep within thirty minutes.

He stood outside the house, looking up. The front door was open. He climbed the four wooden steps to the porch and crossed it without hesitation.

He pushed the door fully open and poked his head inside.

"Hello?" he called. There was no answer. He went in.

The hallway was dark and empty. He could hear a clock ticking somewhere.

There was a bright flash and a bang. A thunderstorm. The wind began howling.

He woke up.

John contacted Virgil privately the next morning as Virgil was slowly waking up. He heard his wrist communicator bleeping and reached for it with his eyes shut.

"What," he mumbled, not knowing or caring who it was.

"Virgil, it's me, John."

"John. What the hell do you want."

"Virgil, it's 8.30 where you are, rise and shine, good buddy."

"Yeah. I'll do just that," Virgil snorted. "What is it?"

"I had another dream. Just in case you're interested."

"You did?"

"Yep. I got inside the house. Nothing much happened though. There was a storm and I woke up."

"A storm?" Virgil was puzzled. "In space?"

"In the dream, you knucklehead," John laughed. "There was a storm in the dream. I went up the porch steps and into the hallway. Then the storm made me wake up."

"So nothing happened?"

"Nope. Worth a mention though, I thought."

"Of course, John."

"How about you? You dream anything?"

"No. Not this time. I was out for the count, I think. Can't recall any dream at all."

"Well, I'll leave you to it, Sleeping Beauty. Time for some of us to get to work."

"John had the dream this time," Virgil told Scott as Scott prepared to do his rounds of Tracy Island's security systems. "He managed to enter the house, but then a storm happened and he woke up."

"A storm?" said Scott. "In his dream?"

"Yeah. I'm beginning to wonder what this all means."

"Well, Virg, it's just you and John so far. I can't explain it, myself."

"I know, Scott. It's weird, though."

"I know, but listen, Virg, I gotta make these rounds. I'll catch you later, okay?"

"Sure, Scott. See you."

Virgil felt himself deflate a little. Scott seemed to be losing interest already. A dream was a dream. It went on inside your head. It wasn't anything real, anything material. It wasn't Scott's field of expertise. His brother had bigger things to worry about. With a sigh, Virgil went over to his beloved piano and sat down, lifting the lid.

Mrs. Tracy appeared shortly, attracted by Virgil's gentle music. She stood next to the piano, smiling to herself.

"Sit with me, Grandma," Virgil invited, shifting along the piano stool to make room for her.

Mrs. Tracy accepted the invitation and joined Virgil on the stool. She lifted her right hand and added to the melody he was playing.

"Hey," Virgil said appraisingly, "that's not bad."

"I could hold a tune in my day," she replied.

"You should play more often. Keep in practise."

"Oh, I'm nowhere near as good as you. You get it from your mother."

"You underestimate yourself. You're pretty good."

They carried on for a while, Virgil playing the melody, Mrs. Tracy adding the top notes.

"We could get a Cabaret act together," Virgil smiled. "What do you say, Grandma?"

Mrs. Tracy didn't answer.

"Grandma?" Virgil stopped playing, put his arm around his grandmother who had gone pale. "Grandma, are you okay?"

She nodded a little weakly. "I just felt a bit odd there, that's all," she said.

Virgil cradled her in his arms, pulling her against him. "You'll be fine," he murmured into her hair. "We'll go get you some tea, how about that."

"Yes, Virgil, tea. That _would _be lovely."

John was oiling his telescope when he became aware of the transmissions. He hurried over to Thunderbird 5's main console and turned up the volume, a small frown creasing his handsome features. The storm he had been monitoring in the North Atlantic had grown quickly over the hours into a Category Three hurricane, and was now posing a threat to the Carolina coast. These storms were commonplace every year, and the State Emergency Services were always well prepared, but usually they would get at least one callout dealing with floods and mudslides in the aftermath. He set the recording device and contacted Base.

Virgil and Alan were sitting in the kitchen with their grandmother when Scott returned, dusty and hot, from his security tour of the island's defences.

"Everything okay?" he asked, heading straight to the fridge for lemonade.

"We're just making sure Grandma takes it easy," said Alan.

"I'm really all right, boys," Mrs. Tracy protested. "I just felt a little tired."

Scott poured a tall glass of lemonade and downed it in four massive gulps. He poured another and put the lemonade back in the fridge, kicking the door shut with his foot. "You're pushing yourself, Grandma," he said. "But you won't listen."

"If you think I'm some feeble old ninny, then you're mistaken," Mrs. Tracy grumbled.

"I never said that," Scott laughed. "I know darned well you're not some feeble old ninny." He drained his glass, rinsed it under the tap, and headed towards the lounge. "I'm going to get showered," he said. "Catch you all later."

In the lounge, Jeff was perched on the edge of his desk, talking to John. "Ah, there you are, Scott," he said, beckoning his eldest over. Tin-Tin was there too. She had been helping Jeff with a pile of paperwork.

"What is it, dad?"

"North Atlantic hurricane heading for the Carolina coast. Category Three. John's monitoring the situation now."

"Hey, Scott," said John. "We may or may not be needed, but best to be aware."

"Sure thing," Scott agreed. He turned to see Tin-Tin wrinkling her nose.

"You need a shower," she stated, bluntly.

"Don't like the smell of a real man, huh?"

She lowered her head, smiling coyly.

"Keep me informed, dad," Scott grinned, patting Jeff's shoulder. "I'm going to get cleaned up before the lady faints."

"Well, Mr. Tracy, do you think this storm is going to get any worse?" Tin-Tin asked Jeff after Scott had gone.

"I don't know, Tin-Tin, it's hard to tell. This one _has _worsened over the last week or so. There's every chance we might be needed once it hits the coast."

"The entire coast is on Hurricane Watch," John told them. "All coastal town and cities have put evacuation plans into action. They're normally very well prepared for these eventualities."

"All the same, John, we'll be ready," said Jeff.

After his shower, Scott dressed in jeans and a loose cotton shirt and lay down on his bed, feeling the urge for a nap. He had a nagging ache in his shoulders, the result of pulling a muscle on their last rescue mission, and his tour around the island's security checkpoints had aggravated it slightly. He picked up the book he'd been attempting to read for the last three weeks, never having got further than chapter four. It was a good enough action thriller, but he found he kept reading the same paragraph over and over, unable to fix the scene in his head. He made another attempt to get past the impasse, but once again his eyelids grew heavy before he'd reached the end of the page. The book fell onto his chest and he drifted off into sleep.

"_Scott._"

Scott shot bolt upright. Who the heck was in his room? He looked around, his eyes wide. There was no-one there.

"What the...?" he muttered to himself, raking his fingers through his hair. The voice, male and authoritative, had been so _real_. He blinked, still half dazed. "Gordon, if that's you..."

But somehow he knew it wasn't.

Mrs. Tracy was also napping. Virgil and Alan had insisted on taking her to her room so that she could get into bed properly. She had resisted, of course, but two determined young men were more than a match for her, and she had to admit that she _did_ feel a little weary.

The riverbank again, and he was there waiting for her. The sun shone in his brown hair, lit up his blue eyes. She ran towards him and he picked her up and twirled her around, laughing.

"I miss you," he said.

"I miss you too," she replied.

He looked deep into her eyes, stroked the side of her smooth cheek with gentle fingers. "They are good boys," he smiled. "They are coming."

Her eyes opened.

The occupants of the house scurried back and forth between the house and their car, loading their belongings before the storm hit. All around them was activity, up and down the windy, blustery seafront, people were packing up cars and trucks in preparation for evacuation inland. It looked like a big one this time. It had lingered off shore for days, biding its time, it seemed. Now it was ready to hit. Hurricane Giselle. Such a pretty name for such a destructive force.

The woman climbed the stairs with boxes and boxes of possessions they couldn't take with them, storing them as high as she could in case the house flooded. Her husband secured windows and doors and checked the eaves and guttering, hoping the high winds wouldn't tear the roof off.

In the kitchen, the woman looked at the wooden box that sat on the table, its contents spread out on the tablecloth. She had been in the process of sorting out these antiques, having bought the entire crate at auction just a week ago. There were old photos, medals, bits of jewellery, keepsakes, folded and yellowing letters, hundreds of postcards. Different people, from different eras, some ancient, some less so. All piled into one box and sold for thirty dollars.

She picked up the photo she liked best. It was hardly faded at all, in fact it could have been taken in the last five years. It was of a beautiful couple holding two children. He was handsome and smiling, she was attractive and still carefree. The two children, boys, were gorgeous- one mischievous and lively with bright chestnut hair, the other a baby with hair the colour of white gold. She wondered who they were and whether they were all still together.

Her husband's heavy boots stomped into the house. "Y'almost ready, Laura?"

"Yes, Mitch, almost," she called back, stuffing the mementoes back into the box and hefting it high up onto a nearby shelf.

Her husband came into the kitchen and enfolded her in his arms. "Everything'll be fine," he said, soothingly. "Your sister's waiting for us. The house has stood here for years. It'll still be here when we get back."

"Sure," she smiled warmly.

They left the house together, battling through the wind, locking the front door behind them.

"How's that hurricane, John?" asked Jeff, frowning at the young man's portrait.

"Expected to hit within the next couple of hours, dad. Evacuations have been well under way since yesterday- this could cause some pretty extensive coastal erosion and flooding far inland."

"Of course, all the State Emergency Services are on standby," said Jeff.

"Yes sir. I'm monitoring all services. There are emergency shelters set up all along the evacuation route."

"Good man, John. Stay with us."

"Sure, dad."

"Nothing to do now but wait," said Scott, hovering nearby with Tin-Tin.

"Yes. Although they are pretty well prepared for hurricanes out there."

"Could always do with a little extra help, though. Right?"

"Don't be so eager, son," Jeff smiled. "Let's hope things don't get that bad."

Mrs. Tracy left her room and padded down the hallway to the lounge. She made her way across the room to Virgil's easel, where his second painting of the house was still propped and drying.

"What is it, mother?" asked Jeff, coming over to join her.

"Oh, I don't know, son," she said, puzzled. "John and Virgil have been dreaming about this house, and I've been dreaming about your father."

"You've been dreaming about dad?"

"Yes. Quite lovely little dreams where we're both young again. They just seem so _real_."

"But that's wonderful, mother."

"Yes, I suppose it is. But it's a mystery, too."

"Well, I can't say I know much about dreams, but if it makes you happy, then surely that's a good thing?"

"I'd just like to have it _explained_."

Jeff laughed, hugged his mother's shoulders. "At least I know where I get _that_ from," he chuckled.

Scott and Tin-Tin watched them from Jeff's desk. "What _do _you make of all this dream stuff, Tin-Tin?" Scott asked.

"I think it's quite charming," said the pretty Eurasian girl. "They don't appear to be bad dreams. As to whether they mean anything, I'm as baffled as anyone. Why, Scott? I thought we'd had this discussion."

"Well, I don't know whether I should mention it..." Scott trailed off, rubbing his chin.

"Mention what?" Tin-Tin peered up at him. "Have you been dreaming too?"

"No, I wouldn't call it a dream, Tin-Tin. I..." he hesitated, looking faintly apologetic. "Well, I heard a voice."

"Oh?"

"I went for a nap, started reading a book, dozed off. I guess I hadn't been out for more than five minutes, if that. Then I heard someone say my name. Like, I really heard it. As if the guy was right there in the room, and as if he knew me."

"And did he say anything else?"

"No. Just 'Scott'. It damn near scared the crap out of me, though."

"How odd!" Tin-Tin turned her gaze back to Jeff Tracy and his mother, still standing at Virgil's easel. "Something strange is certainly going on."

"And there's Grandma's condition, too. She's definitely not been herself lately."

Tin-Tin looked up at his concerned face. "I can see you're worried, all of you. But try not to be. It will only make Mrs. Tracy self-conscious, and you know how she worries about you, too. Every time you go out."

Scott sighed deeply. "You're right, Tin-Tin. But it's a hard habit to break."

"I know, Scott. But you're a close family. Whatever happens, you'll always have each other."

"Hey," he chided, putting his arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. "_We're_ a strong family. _We'll_ always have each other."

Hurricane Giselle hit the coast and immediately began battering it into submission. The Tracys watched the news as huge waves crashed over the seafront promenade, shaky footage filmed by experienced news crews and amateur storm chasers alike. Trees, crippled and bent double, wantonly shed their branches and leaves. Trash cans and their spilled debris littered the streets, bouncing and rolling. A couple of foolhardy souls clung to the promenade railings, attempting to lift themselves horizontally off the ground.

The announcer had to shout over the roaring wind, her voice hoarse, the words ripped straight from her mouth. The noise was thunderous. Rain lashed the camera. The skies boiled, grey and angry.

The sea encroached on the land like an unstoppable monster.

"Mercy," muttered Mrs. Tracy. "Would you look at that."

Virgil held his breath anxiously. It all looked very familiar. The coast road, the shape of the seafront.

The footage was so shaky, so blurred with rain. They kept panning to the announcer, battered and bedraggled in her huge yellow windcheater. He wanted to see more. He fidgeted nervously.

"That's some storm," said Alan, sitting on the sofa with Tin-Tin and Gordon. "I'd be real surprised if we don't get a call out to help with the clean-up operation, at least."

Then, as they were watching, a massive wave surged over the seafront railings and crashed onto the coast road like an enormous angry fist. The television announcer shouted audibly, a tone of panic in her voice. "Those two people, where did they go?" she cried above the tempest.

The Tracys all sat up as one, glued to the screen.

"She must mean those two fools who were holding onto the railings," said Scott. "God knows what makes folk do such idiotic things in the face of danger."

Another crashing wave hit the road, and the camera shuddered and tipped over.

"We need to get out of here!" someone cried offscreen.

"Dad...?" Scott's tone was urgent.

"I know, Scott, I know...we should get out there."

Virgil also turned to face his father, his honey brown eyes pleading to be told to get going. "Dad, with the time it takes us to get out there, we'll be ready for when the call comes."

"_If_ the call comes."

"Dad!"

Then they heard it. Someone on the television screen said the words.

International Rescue, and help.

"Only we can get into the teeth of that storm, dad," said Virgil.

"Okay, boys, you're right. Scott..."

Scott was already up and heading across the room. "Yes, _sir._"

"Virgil, take Gordon and Alan and Pod 4 just in case you need to get into the ocean. It may be easier for Scott to land Thunderbird 1, and for you to use rescue winches from the air. See how things go."

"Sure thing, father." Virgil and his brothers got moving.

The Tracy swimming pool slid back and soon Thunderbird 1 was screaming into the air, her sleek silver body flashing in the afternoon sun.

Minutes later Thunderbird 2 launched, rumbling after her little sister.

"Oh, I do hope they'll be all right," Mrs. Tracy fretted.

Tin-Tin went over to sit with the elderly lady, remembering how worried Scott had been. "They'll be all right, Mrs. Tracy," she soothed. "They'll be home before you know it, you'll see."

John, from his portrait on the wall, exchanged a look with Jeff.


	2. Chapter 2

Scott made contact with John as he hurtled towards the danger zone. "Any news, John?"

"Sure, Scott. Network 9 has told us there are four members of their television crew out there. Three men and one woman, the announcer. They've had to seek shelter in one of the houses, as their news van was in danger of being swept away. They're lucky themselves that they weren't washed out to sea."

"There were two other people besides the TV crew," Scott said. "They were fooling around on the sea front. Any news of them?"

"No, Scott. No news of them, Sorry."

"That's okay, John. Nothing I can do until I get there, anyway. ETA, thirty minutes."

"FAB, Scott."

The danger zone was a pretty impressive sight when Scott arrived, approaching from the South and cruising up the coast. Fierce winds buffeted the craft, but her stabilisers kept her steady, allowing Scott to stay in control.

"John, do you copy?"

"FAB, Scott. You're almost there."

Scott turned Thunderbird 1 towards the land. The winds were behind him now, giving him a little extra speed, pushing hard at Thunderbird 1's tail. "Not a day _I'd _like to be out in," he muttered, half to himself and half to John.

"Network 9 say their people are watching out for you, Scott," John said.

"Activating lights," Scott replied, flicking a switch.

At once, a pair of brilliant, sweeping searchlights cut through the gloom ahead. No-one could miss him now. After fifteen minutes or so, John came back with some news.

"They've got you, Scott. They're in a house on the sea front. They can see you."

"Tell them to hold tight, we're bringing in the winches."

"Their boss wants a word, he's being pretty persistent."

A different voice came over Scott's intercom. "International Rescue? Hello, hello?"

"This is International Rescue, Thunderbird 1," said Scott, briskly.

"Boy, is it good to hear from you guys. This is George Simmons, Network 9. Our people are counting on you, my friend, we know you can get them out."

"Uh-huh, well you just tell them to sit tight and don't move till we get there, Mr. Simmons. That's all we ask."

Scott cut the man's voice off. He had no time for over-familiarity. He and his brothers had a job to do.

Virgil piloted Thunderbird 2 through the heavy storm, steering the giant 'bird expertly over every bump in the wind, compensating for every wave of turbulence. It was lucky that neither he or his brothers ever got airsick.

Thunderbird 2's huge searchlights came on, illuminating the air around them, glistening on the swirling mist and sea spray that battered against the windows.

"Virgil!" Scott's relieved voice came over the intercom. "It's sure good to see you. I've been having a tough time holding Thunderbird 1 steady in this wind."

"It sure is rough," Virgil agreed. "So, what's the plan, Scott?"

"You and Alan will need to go down on the end of the winches. Gordon can hold Thunderbird 2 steady. We'll keep our searchlights trained on that row of houses. The four people from Network 9 are all together in one house, but there's no word or sign of those other two."

"He wants you to go down?" asked Gordon.

"You can hold her, can't you?" Virgil said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Of course I can!" his younger brother replied, indignantly.

Virgil shifted out of the pilot's seat to let Gordon sit down. Gordon smiled crookedly.

"Just keep my lady in one piece, that's all I ask." He patted Gordon's shoulder affectionately, then he and Alan hurried down to the winch bay.

"Scott," said John over Thunderbird 1's intercom. "The eye of the hurricane is due in about thirty five to forty minutes. Things should start to calm down, but not before that. You should have a relatively clear window through which to get those people out if you can wait that long."

"That is good news, John. I don't want to take any more risks than I need to. Relay that information to the others, will you? It may be worth sitting it out until then."

"Wind speed should tail right off," John agreed, "and you'll have visibility back. I'll tell the others."

Thunderbirds 1 and 2 hovered patiently in the howling winds, both pilots compensating every second for changes in air pressure and wind speed. It was exhausting work, even with the automatic control systems. Scott's shoulders ached, Gordon's arm muscles flexed and tightened. He peered anxiously through the rain-lashed windows at the lights of Thunderbird 1 bobbing and weaving ahead of him in the gloom, thinking how tiny and vulnerable Scott's craft looked compared to his and Virgil's.

Finally, after what seemed like an age, the weather began to show signs of calming down. Scott knew the storm was far from over- the eye would pass and then the winds would be back stronger than ever and coming from the opposite direction, as the other half of the spiralling weather system passed over. They had to start acting now, and be quick about it.

"Okay, Gordon, bring her in."

"FAB, Scott."

Thunderbirds 1and 2 approached the coast just as the clouds started to lift. Both pilots switched off their searchlights as some semblance of daylight returned, and then suddenly the late afternoon sun came out so brightly that they had to shield their eyes from the glare.

Virgil and Alan strapped themselves into their winch harnesses and secured the lines to their belts.

"Okay, Gordon, ready when you are," said Virgil.

"FAB, Virgil."

The giant bay doors whined and began to slide open. Alan and Virgil prepared themselves for buffeting winds, but there was nothing more than an updraft of incredibly warm air.

"Amazing, isn't it?" mused Virgil. "One minute you're in the grip of a demon, the next...nothing."

"Yes, and this is where all the trouble starts," said Alan. "People think the storm's over and start coming out of hiding. Then, whammo, it's back."

"Well, I sure hope that doesn't happen this time."

"Scott says he's landing Thunderbird 1," came Gordon's voice. "He'll meet you on the ground."

"FAB," said Virgil. "You can start winching us down now, Gordon."

Scott settled Thunderbird 1 on a stretch of highway that ran parallel to the coast road further up the hill. He was out of his 'bird and down the debris littered street ready and waiting for Virgil and Alan within minutes. Thunderbird 2 loomed overhead, riding the decreased but still occasional gusts of wind, lowering the two men slowly on the ends of their winches. As they neared the ground, Scott saw movement out of the corner of his eye. A door had opened in one of the houses and a face was peering out.

Scott waved his hand, motioning the person back inside. "We need you all together," he shouted, not sure if he could be heard above the whine and thrum of Thunderbird 2's engines.

Virgil and Alan finally touched down, their boots hitting the flooded road surface with a soft splash. They began unclipping themselves from their winch lines.

"Hang tight, Gordon, we'll have these people out as soon as we can," said Scott.

"FAB," said Gordon. "I'm not going anywhere."

Scott, Virgil and Alan hurried towards the house. Halfway across the road, Virgil stopped in his tracks.

Scott, at the foot of the porch steps, realised he was one man down and turned back.

"Virgil, what the heck...?"

"Scott," said Virgil. "Scott...it's the house."

"Virgil, what are you talking about? We've got no time for..."

Virgil was beckoning him over, his eyes wide. With a sigh, Scott ran back across the road to see what his brother was up to.

"Look," said Virgil, pointing down the street.

Scott looked. There it was, the house from Virgil and John's dreams. There was no mistaking it. The mint green colour, the road going up the hill alongside it, the rusty window fittings.

The front door hanging open.

"Jesus," Scott said with a low whistle.

Virgil turned to his older brother, an anxious look on his face. "You realise I'm going to have to check it out, don't you?" he said quietly. "When we've finished here, obviously."

Scott breathed another sigh. He looked down the street at the house, then back at his younger brother. Once Virgil was determined to do something, it was very hard to stop him. "Okay, Virgil, you want to check it out, we'll do it together, after we've got these people out. But we're not hanging around wasting time, is that clear? We don't want to be here when that hurricane comes back."

"Sure, Scott. I understand."

"Good. Now, come on."

The four members of the news team were overjoyed to see the boys from International Rescue. They came out of their hiding place, looking cold and wet but happy.

"No-one injured?" asked Scott.

"No, we're all pretty lucky, I guess," said a blond haired man. "We saw those waves and we ran for it. Me and Benny here, we managed to shoulder the front door open and got in."

"There were two other people on the sea front," Scott continued. "Any idea what happened to them?"

The four members of the news team hung their heads. "No, we saw them get swept away. That was it."

"Swept away? Into the ocean?"

"It's hard to tell where they ended up. One minute they were there, the next, gone."

Scott sucked air between his teeth. "Well, I guess there's nothing we can do for them right now," he decided. "Let's just get you folk out of here before that storm returns."

The female announcer, who was introduced as Tanya, and Benny the cameraman were the first to get winched aboard Thunderbird 2. Virgil clipped Tanya into the passenger harness and Benny went with Alan. Scott and the two remaining TV people watched as Gordon winched them up into the air towards the belly of the great green 'bird.

"That is one mighty machine," the blond man said quietly.

"It sure is," Scott agreed.

"We were sent here, you know," the blond man continued. "We know we shouldn't have been out in this. Our boss wanted footage. Real front line stuff."

"That would be George Simmons?" asked Scott.

"That's the guy. A real asshole."

"Maybe it's time you started looking for another job."

"You hiring?"

Scott chuckled. He could have sworn the blond man just looked him up and down. "No, sorry. But if we ever do, we'll let you know."

"I'm Rick," the blond man said, beaming a white toothed smile. "This here's Chuck."

"Nice to meet you, Rick. Chuck." Scott suppressed a smile of his own as he shook hands with the two grinning men.

"Can't wait to take a ride in that beast," Rick went on, staring up at Thunderbird 2. "She sure is a beauty."

Scott was never so glad to see Virgil and Alan returning. Rick was way too much into small talk.

Scott had the feeling that if they'd met in a bar, Rick would be trying to pick him up.

Virgil and Alan landed, ready to take Rick and Chuck aboard. In a sudden attack of mischief, Scott stepped forward and personally made sure Rick's harness was secure, tugging at the straps across the young man's chest and checking all the clips. "Strapped in okay there, Rick?"

Rick rewarded him with another beaming smile. "Yes, sir."

Scott slapped Rick's chest lightly with the back of his hand. "Then enjoy the ride," he said, and winked.

He watched as Gordon winched them all aboard, his face tilted towards the dark underbelly of Thunderbird 2. After a while he dropped his gaze and turned his attention to the house up the street.

Virgil's house, as he was starting to call it.

He began walking towards it, suddenly gripped with a new curiosity. With every step his fixation mounted, until he could focus on nothing else. The wind laced its fingers through his hair, his brows drew together in a frown. The house almost seemed to beckon him, the way Virgil had described it while he was painting.

He looked back at Thunderbird 2. Virgil was descending already. Scott stopped and waited for his brother to catch up with him. He grew impatient, not knowing exactly how much time they had left in the hurricane's calm eye.

Virgil ran up the street, boots splashing through puddles. He was breathless and soaking by the time he caught up with Scott.

They stood side by side, staring up at the house.

"I need to go in," Virgil said, breathing hard.

"You realise this is somebody's property?" said Scott.

"I know. I won't disturb anything. But look, the door's open, just like in my painting. We wouldn't be breaking in. Besides, there might be someone in there."

"You're right," Scott agreed, giving Virgil a warm smile. "We should check it out."

They climbed the porch steps together.

"This was John's dream," said Virgil. "He said he went inside, but then a storm broke and he woke up."

"Well, I sure hope a storm doesn't break while _we're_ inside. I've left Thunderbird 1 parked up the street."

"We'll be quick," said Virgil. "I just need to see what's in here. If it's nothing, I'll forget all about it."

They stood together in the hallway.

"Hello?" Virgil called. "This is International Rescue. Is there anyone at home?"

"This lock's been _broken_," said Scott, examining the door frame. "Looks like someone may have forced their way in."

"Hello?" called Virgil again. "This is International Rescue. Is there anyone here?"

There was a sound from the back of the house. Scott and Virgil looked at each other, then hurried down the hallway towards the kitchen.

"Hello?" Virgil stopped at the door and cocked his head. "Anyone in there?"

A small voice came back. "In here..."

Virgil pushed the door open. It appeared jammed. He opened it enough to get his head through the gap. Two pale and frightened faces looked back, teenage boys with matted hair and bloodied faces.

"What the?" Virgil exclaimed.

The boys had pushed all the kitchen furniture against the door.

"Have you come to get us out?" One of the boys asked, his voice shaking.

"Yes, we have. We're International Rescue. Are you the two guys who we saw on the news, hanging off the sea front railings?"

"We were messing around, just having fun," the other boy said, feebly.

"Some fun," said Virgil, "nearly getting yourselves killed."

The first boy scrambled to his feet, dragging the furniture away from the door to let Scott and Virgil in.

"Are you injured? Do your parents know where you are?" Scott asked, pushing his way into the kitchen, his long legs stepping easily over the obstacles.

"We told them we were with friends," the boy stammered. "Rory here, he's banged up pretty bad, but I think I'm all right. Just a few cuts and grazes. I'm Gonzo."

"Gonzo?" said Virgil, lifting his eyebrows.

"Actually, it's Alonso. Gonzo's just a nickname."

"Glad to hear it," said Virgil with a smile.

"Well, I can guarantee you, Gonzo, your family will be worried sick," Scott continued, not wanting to let them get away with it. "You need to think twice before you do anything like this in the future. You understand me?"

"Yes, sir," said Gonzo, humbled.

He looked at Gonzo, checking the boy over. "Just a few cuts, eh? You look like you've been through a blender."

"Guess I am a little sore," Gonzo admitted, "but I think Rory here broke my fall."

Scott made his way over to the boy who was lying propped against the kitchen unit. His forearm was bent at an odd angle behind the wrist. Scott kneeled down beside him.

"Well, it doesn't take a genius to see that you've broken your arm." Scott's expression softened at the look of fear in Rory's eyes and he lifted a hand to the boy's clammy forehead. "We're going to have to splint it for now and get you to a hospital as quickly as possible. Okay?"

"Yes, sir," Rory echoed his friend. No way was he going to argue with this stern looking man and his piercing blue eyes. Scott carried on talking to Gonzo as he brushed the hair out of Rory's face and attempted to make the boy more comfortable on the kitchen floor.

"You're very lucky, you know that? You could both be lying dead at the bottom of the ocean right now. Not a nice place to be."

"No, sir."

"Virgil, see what you can find to make a splint. Break something if you have to. Oh, and I'd better tell Gordon and Alan we'll be a while now that we've found these boys."

"Sure, Scott." Virgil set about rooting through cupboards and drawers, eventually settling on two wooden partitions in a cutlery drawer that separated the knives from the forks. Sighing at the wanton destruction of some strangers' property, he tipped the cutlery into the sink and pulled the entire drawer to pieces. He grabbed a couple of tea towels and tore them into strips. He knelt down beside Scott and Rory and lifted the boy's arm with great care, placing it gently across his thigh. Rory winced and cried out.

"Try to relax," said Virgil in a soothing tone. "All I'm going to do is place these slats of wood here and here, and bind them together. Okay?"

Rory nodded, tears in his eyes.

Scott was about to say something else to Gonzo when he was suddenly struck with a dizzy spell. He blinked, feeling himself sway. He shook his head, found the two boys staring at him.

"You okay, mister?" Gonzo asked.

"Yes, I'm okay," Scott answered, a little irritably.

"_Scott_."

Scott jerked as though struck. "What the...?"

"Scott?" asked Virgil. "What's wrong?"

"That voice. It's that voice." Scott appeared to be talking to himself now.

The two boys looked at Virgil. "Is your friend okay?" Rory asked.

"He's okay," Virgil muttered. "Don't worry about him, let's just get your arm fixed."

Scott stood up and looked around. There was litter all over the floor from where Gonzo had pulled the kitchen apart trying to build a barrier for the door.

There was a box on the floor, upturned with all its contents spilling out. Virgil, putting the final touches to Rory's makeshift splint, looked over and saw it too.

Scott picked his way over and bent to pick something up. A photograph in a frame, its glass cover amazingly intact. Virgil watched the look of shock spread across his brother's face. Scott put a hand out to steady himself against the kitchen counter.

"Scott! What is it?"

Without a word, Scott held out the photograph. Virgil reached out one hand and took it.

"Oh my God. It's us." Grant and Ruth Tracy smiled out at him, and there he was, cradled in his grandfather's arms, with baby John held tightly in Ruth's. Virgil was speechless.

Rory and Gonzo just stared, puzzled. "My arm..." said Rory in a childlike manner.

Scott bent down and began rummaging through the spilled contents of the box. "This is wrong," he muttered. "We shouldn't be ransacking someone's house like this."

"Scott, we'll send a note, we'll cover the damages and explain what happened," said Virgil. "These boys needed shelter, anyway."

Scott picked up letters, postcards, medals, keepsakes, scrutinised everything with a keen eye.

"Nothing else," he said at last. "Just that photograph. How the heck did it come to be here?"

"Stuff must have gone missing when we moved out of..." Virgil caught himself, seeing the two boys listening. "Never mind, Scott. Come on, we really need to get these boys out of here. We'll talk about the rest later."

They helped the boys out onto the street. Rory, still pale and trembling, leaned on Virgil with his good arm around Virgil's shoulders.

Gordon's voice came over Scott's wrist comm. "There you are, Scott! We were starting to worry."

"We're okay, Gordon, we just got caught up," Scott responded. "Send the winches down for these boys and contact the nearest hospital to tell them you're bringing in two more patients."

"FAB", said Gordon.

"You boys need to let your parents know where you are," Virgil said. "You can use our radio, but after that we're taking you to get that arm set right. Understood?"

"Okay, sir," the older boy nodded.

"Promise you won't pull a stunt like this again?"

"Yes, _sir._ We promise."

"Good. Now come on, get yourselves strapped in."

Alan had winched back down to help. With Gonzo on his line and Virgil and Rory on the other, Scott stood back and got ready to give Gordon the all-clear.

"Wait," said Virgil. He held out the photograph. "Here, Scott. You take this back for Grandma. You'll get home way before us."

Scott took the photograph from Virgil's outstretched hand.

"I'll take it," he agreed, "but I'll wait for you to get home, Virg. I think we need to show dad first."

On the way back to Tracy Island, Scott contacted John. They talked about the hurricane and the rescue for a few moments, then Scott looked down at the photograph in his lap. "John, you're not going to believe this."

"Scott, you know I believe everything you say."

Scott chuckled. His and John's heated discussions were a running joke in the Tracy household.

He took a deep breath and told John everything.

There was a short silence, then the sound of John audibly breathing out. "No way."

"Not just that, John. There was something else. I never told anyone except Tin-Tin, but the other day when I was napping, I heard a man's voice say my name. It happened again in the kitchen of that house, right before I found the photo."

Another silence, longer and more weighted.

"What the hell?" John said, at last. "Scott Tracy, hearing voices?"

"I know," said Scott, for once ignoring John's teasing. "It's just about the weirdest goddamned thing, John. Why would a photograph of our family be stuffed in a crate of old junk in a house on the South Carolina coast? Virgil muttered something about some items getting lost when we moved, but those two boys were in the room so he shut up pretty quickly. I'll have to ask Grandma about that."

John whistled. "What a mystery. So, ah...what's this photo like, Scott?"

Scott stared at the picture in his hands, stroking the frame with his thumb.

"It's beautiful, John. It's Grandma and Grandpa when they were younger, forties I guess. Grandpa looks so much like dad. Grandma looks like an angel. You're about one year old, and Virg has got the cutest grin." Scott felt the years stripping away from him as the sun shone into his soul, warming him from the inside out. His grandfather's face beamed out at him, almost locking eyes.

"It was you, wasn't it, Grandpa?" he murmured.

"What's that, Scott?"

"Sorry, John, I was talking to...um, myself."

"Scott," said John, "get home safe, buddy. Get a rest. I'll catch up with you later. You can fill me in then."

"FAB, John. Talk to you soon."

Scott turned off the transmission and flew the rest of the way home in thoughtful silence, the photograph tucked safely into his sash.

Scott and Virgil had told their father to sit down, but even when he was seated and they presented him with the photograph, Jeff still looked as though he were about to fall over.

"What the...?" he exclaimed, staring at it with an expression of incredulity.

"Seriously, dad. We found it in that house. The house Virg and John have been dreaming about. It was right there on that street."

"This defies all logic," Jeff muttered.

Scott and Virgil exchanged amused looks.

"Yes, father, it does," said Virgil. "The dreams _and_ the voice Scott heard, that he only just _now_ decided to tell me about."

But Jeff was nonetheless entranced. "Mom and dad," he said softly. "And you and John. I think it might even have been me that took this photo."

"Dad, did anything get lost when we moved out here?" asked Scott.

"I guess it must have. There was so much of it. It was quite an upheaval, as you well remember."

"Maybe this photo slipped out of a box," said Scott, "and someone found it and picked it up."

"Maybe Grandpa just wanted to come home," said Virgil.

Jeff glanced up sharply. "You don't really think...?"

Virgil shrugged. "I don't know what to think, father."

"Everything points that way," said Scott, "if you believe in all this stuff, that is."

"Yeah," Virgil smiled. "Wait till we tell Tin-Tin, she'll probably start crying."

"Wait till we tell Grandma," said Scott. "It'll be like Niagara Falls."

Sure enough, Mrs. Tracy and Tin-Tin both cried when they saw the photograph. Jeff sat next to his mother on the sofa and held her gently while her shoulders shook and fat tears rolled silently down her cheeks, the photograph clutched tightly in her thin fingers. Alan sat on the other side of Tin-Tin and fidgeted nervously, unsure of what to do, watching as she blew her nose into a silk handkerchief and wiped at her wet eyelashes with the back of her hand.

"Oh, Mrs. Tracy," the young girl sobbed, "it's such a beautiful photo, and such a very strange turn of events! To think that Virgil and John's dreams had something to do with this."

Gordon, Scott and Virgil sat opposite, giving each other sidelong glances, quietly affected by the scene in front of them. John was there too, via his portrait link from Thunderbird 5.

"This was my absolute most favourite picture," Mrs. Tracy stammered. "I never knew what happened to it. I was so _sure_ I packed it safely. I just assumed it was lost forever." She touched the glass over her husband's smiling face. "Do you remember this day, Jefferson? We were out on the lawn having a barbecue. Scotty was so keen to help that you built him a little mini barbecue of his own. He made his own little hamburgers and made his own little salad, and he and Virgil cooked up their own little feast. With plenty of supervision, of course. Remember, Scott?"

Alan and Gordon exchanged a glance. Scott shot them both a withering stare.

"I remember it, Grandma," he acknowledged somewhat reluctantly. "Although it's kind of hazy, seeing as I was only about five."

"Scott made a salad?" asked Gordon.

"Probably rustled up a little vinaigrette dressing to go with it," added Alan, attempting to raise a smile from the girls.

"You took this photo, Jefferson. We wanted Lucille in the frame too, but she complained her hair was too untidy from the heat and cooking. She laughed off all attempts to get her to pose. I sure wish now that we'd tried harder. She was so beautiful."

Tin-Tin gave a loud sniffle and buried her face in her hands, causing Alan to pull her into his arms at last, a lump in his own throat at the mention of the mother he never had the chance to know.

"Lucille could sure dig her heels in when she wanted to," smiled Jeff, reaching around his mother to pat Tin-Tin's shoulder.

His other sons shuffled in their seats, lost in their own thoughts of their mother.

"Look at John," Mrs. Tracy sighed. "He was such a beautiful child. That hair. People used to comment all the time. They said he was like an angel fallen from Heaven."

"Yeah, he's fallen, all right," said Alan softly, trying again to lighten the mood, looking at Gordon then looking at John who stared back sternly.

"What about me, Grandma?" asked Virgil, almost not daring to ask. "What was I like?"

"You were a quiet boy, dear Virgil. But oh, you were determined. Once you set your mind to something, there was no stopping you. You had a will of iron. But such a cheeky grin. You could get away with everything."

"No change there," muttered Scott, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"This picture brings back so many memories," their grandmother said, wiping the wetness from her face. "Such happy ones, too. My Grant, so handsome. So like all of you."

She looked at her two youngest grandsons then, the ones who hadn't even existed when the photograph was taken. The love shone out of her eyes like beacons.

"_All_ of you," she smiled.

That night, they dreamed.

Ruth and Grant held each other by the sparkling river's edge.

"I told you they would come," murmured Grant, his lips in her soft brown hair.

"It's so good to have you home," she replied, losing herself in his warm embrace.

Mrs. Tracy slumbered on, her eyes twitching under their closed lids, a smile spread across her papery cheeks, the photograph held tightly to her breast.

John felt the embrace of strong arms around him, too real to be a dream, too dreamlike to be real. He wasn't even sure if he was awake or asleep, he just lay there in a cloud of warmth and light, enfolded in an angel's wings. He didn't think he had ever felt happier.

Scott sensed the man's approach before he saw him, and even when he knew the man was close, his image was still vague. He just heard the voice.

"_Scott_."

No fear this time. He knew at last who it was. "Grandpa."

And then, beside his grandfather, a different shape began to appear. A ghostly whisper and a hint of a smile, half formed but instantly recognisable, full of all the love in the world.

"_Grandma_?"

Virgil ran across the garden, as fast as his small legs would carry him, his little arms windmilling.

"Grandpa!" he shouted, throwing himself into Grant's arms, feeling his feet lift off the ground as his laughing grandfather picked him up and spun him around and around while his mother and grandma stood proudly by.

"Grandpa, I'm flying!

I'm _flying_!"


End file.
